Publication Federation Aftermath (aka The Shamy Book Club After Dark)
by April in Paris
Summary: If science turns Sheldon on, does literature turn Amy on? In which our Shamy get in between a different sort of covers. Companion to my Shamy Book Club, but it is not necessary to read that first.
1. The Gift

**_AN: This series was suggested/requested to/of me, so I'm going to try it. Here we go: what happens after book club. Enjoy!_**

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**The Gift (takes place after _The Eyre Affair_)**

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"_Ball and chain, eh?" she said with a smirk. She squeezed his arm and walked away. "I'm going to bed. Are you coming?"_

* * *

Amy was still smiling as she undressed, after brushing her teeth and hair. Book club always put her in a good mood, and Sheldon had been especially cute tonight. And helping him with his equation had just been icing on the cake. His face!

She thought he would be up late working, so she was surprised when he walked in the bedroom just as she was grabbing a nightgown. "You're not staying up late?"

"No, I think I - well, you - have it to a good stopping place. I'll sleep on it," he answered. Then he smiled at her, her favorite smile, and walked over to kiss her. She was still holding the nightgown in her hand, and he put his hand over hers. "Maybe . . . no nightgown tonight?"

Amy smiled back at him and nodded. She put the nightgown back in the drawer. She felt giddy with excitement. Sheldon had just told her, with words!, what he wanted. This was a first. Well, rather a second, because the very first time he said it, too. But he had not said it since. After the first few times, he had struck upon the idea of just not wearing pajamas, or anything else, to bed. That was his way of asking. She found it charming even if she suspected he also did it so he wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night panicked about his discarded and unfolded pajamas littering the room. As charming as it was, though, she did long for him to someday say the words to her. Just about any variation of "I want you" would do. This felt like the first step.

She threw her panties into the hamper and got into bed. She sat there, watching him undress. She loved this show. She wondered if he knew how intently she was watching, how she always watched. He never acknowledged it, if he did. As with everything he did, there was an order and method. She always wanted to giggle when he folded his clothes before putting them in the hamper. It was so unnecessary and so Sheldon and so she loved it.

At last, it was her slender, naked husband coming to bed. Just thinking that sentence filled her awe. All of those words she thought she would never use.

Sheldon turned off the light, and they rolled toward each other. As always, there were a couple of gentle kisses first, and then Sheldon brought his hand up to her hair and everything deepened. Amy sank into him, his arms, his mouth, his smell. All the years of her life she thought about sex, she never thought it would be like this.

He was nibbling on her shoulder, and her hands were cupping his hind end, when she thought she would ask. She had wanted to, well, since the beginning, but after a few attempts in which Sheldon drew her hand away she had given up. But last week something new had happened, namely that she made her way to the top of their love pile, and it made her realize she could take control, too. She was amazed how empowered it made her feel. She wasn't just taking, she was giving, and Dear Lord! did it feel good.

"Dr. Cooper, may I touch you?" she whispered.

"You are touching me," he whispered back.

"No, I mean, Sheldon -" His head drew away from her. "Sheldon, I want to touch you, really touch you . . . there."

"Oh." She thought she heard him swallow. He whispered, "Uh, if you touch me there, you know I'll probably . . . and then we won't be able to . . . and I may be too tired to . . ."

"I know. That's okay," she replied, bringing her one of her hands up to touch his face. She continued to whisper to him. "Sheldon, if you don't want me to do something because you discover you don't like it or because it is uncomfortable, I always want you tell me right away. But, please, let's agree to never avoid something because we are frightened. Not here."

He didn't answer. Instead, he brought his forehead to hers. She felt his hot breath on her face. Finally, he spoke. "It will be messy."

"It always is." And then she kissed him, gently. This, in fact, had surprised Amy. When she speculated on sex with Sheldon, she assumed it would involve a shower afterwards. But it has not. She thanked the gods of biology, because Sheldon preferred to cuddle groggily until he fell asleep.

As she pulled away, Sheldon reached up for her hand, took it from his cheek, and kissed her palm. Then he nodded.

She reached down and gently caressed just the tip of him. She was rewarded with a short moan. She shifted down the bed slightly; sometimes the height difference was a problem. She knew what to do, but she wanted to investigate him first. His skin felt feverish there; she had noticed this before, in the early morning hours, when Sheldon sometimes woke her by pressing his hot self against her. That, combined with his rubbing of her hip, was his morning signal. His skin there was soft, too, so incredibly soft. The juxtaposition of the soft skin stretched so taut over the hardness beneath was very arousing.

Sheldon's breath came louder and faster as she gently caressed him. When she used just her index finger to follow around his ridge and then swiped the very tip of him again, he let out another moan. His fingers dig into her flesh slightly when she finally took a firm grasp of him. He let out his signature gasp.

And so, in the tight space between them, because he was holding her, she gave to Sheldon. He buried his face in her hair, and she took advantage of the change in position to treat his neck and chest to all the delights to which he usually treated her.

For the second time that night, she was gladdened when she heard him murmur into her hair, the first time he had ever asked for something specific. "Faster."

She sped up, ignoring the mild cramping in her forearm. She felt it, actually felt it, coming before his breath even caught in his throat. Then the deep, low moan she knew well just before the warmth spread on her stomach.

He kissed her on the forehead and then she tilted her head back to look at him. It still held the passive softness she loved. She shifted back up again, so she could look him in the eyes, and he surprised her by pulling her in for a tight hug. She had not thought he would want that mess on himself.

"My wife," he said and then he kissed her. He said it again when he pulled away, "My wife."

It is the first time he has used it as a term of endearment. He has said it in conversation, seeming to effortlessly slip it in where the words "my girlfriend" used to be. She did not understand why this act is what made him use it, but she did not care.

"I love you, too, Sheldon," she said.

"But I didn't say it first."

"Yes, you did." She kissed him this time. "I think maybe tonight a brief shower is in order?"

"Please."

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**_As always, reviews are appreciated. To continue or not to continue? _****_I'm not sure how long I'll be able to keep it going. If I do continue, I'll try to make some serious and some funny. Some will probably be long and some probably painfully short. And some will probably be mundane, because, well, married life & sex isn't always steamy._**


	2. The Double Entendre

**The Double Entendre (takes place after _The Night Circus_)**

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"_Because, Dr. Cooper, I want to be shaken, not stirred." Amy smirked and walked out of the bathroom._

_Sheldon's voice came after her, "What does that mean?"_

* * *

He followed her to the bedroom because, well, it was Amy. Of course he followed her. "Amy, that line is an iconic James Bond reference to an alcoholic drink. As I am not a bartender or even a fan of alcohol, I do not understand -"

"Shut up, Dr. Cooper."

Startled, Sheldon stopped talking. _Is Amy angry? If so, why did she call me Dr. Cooper with _that_ infliction, when she draws out the O?_

Amy approached him and started to pull on his belt buckle. "If you are going to speak, Dr. Cooper, you are going to talk about speedboats."

"Speedboats?" He reached down to still her hands (_what is she doing?_), but she slapped his hand away.

"No. Talk. Speedboats."

Abruptly, it occurred to Sheldon that this was a game. And the way Amy just threw the belt over her shoulder strongly implied this was a sex game. Just as abruptly, both his brain and body become excited at the idea.

"Amy, is this a -"

"Speedboats." She started to remove his jacket, sliding one sleeve down.

"Uh, okay." That was not really his area of expertise, but he was not going to argue. "A speedboat is another term for a motorboat. It is a boat that is powered by an engine as opposed to paddles or oars -"

"You're going to have to do better than that, Dr. Cooper." His jacket gone, she was pulling his shirt out of his pants.

He wanted to yell, 'Woman, I can't even think of the title of my last dissertation right now!' Instead, he said, "Uh, well, some motor boats have an outboard motor attached to the rear, but I think the speedboats to which you are referring have an inboard engine."

She had almost unbuttoned his shirt all the way up to his bow tie. He reached up to untie it for her, but she slapped his hand again.

"No. The tie stays on."

The rules of physics were rapidly leaving his brain, but he felt certain that it was impossible to take his shirt off while leaving the tie on. _But who I am to disagree with my beautiful, determined wife who is wearing only her underwear?_

"The motor is an internal combustion engine. An internal combustion engine is an engine in which fuel combusts when it comes in contact with an oxidizer in a combustion chamber."

Amy had given up on the shirt collar, and had decided to remove the cuff links instead. Sheldon was too addled to feel any pride that he was correct. He was also satisfied that she didn't seem to mind that he wasn't really talking about the physics of speedboats, rather just the mechanical engineering of them. It was so much easier to recall those simple details in the moment.

"The expansion of high-temperature and high-pressure gasses produced by this combustion are applied to some other component of the engine, usually a nozzle or piston -" Suddenly, his pants and his underwear are around his ankles in one fell swoop. Amy's face was very close his . . . his . . . "- a piston or the other thing . . ." He was forced to made a spinning motion with his hand.

The corners of Amy's mouth turned up, but instead of allowing herself a full smile she pushed him forcefully onto the bed. He landed with a flop.

"Lie down," she ordered. She bent down to untie a shoe. "Keep talking."

He spoke at the ceiling, feeling first his shoes, then his socks, and finally his pants fall completely away from him. "There are two types of internal combustion engines, intermittent and continuous. Incorrectly, some people think steam engines belong are combustion engines. Steam engines are not a type of internal combustion engine, that is a . . . a . . . uh . . ."

Amy stood and leaned over him, and blew into his ear. "What is it, Dr. Cooper?" She stood back up. One bra strap fell down. "An error?" She brought the other one down. "A misconception?" One reach behind her and the bra was gone. "Inaccurate?" She dropped her panties. "A blunder?"

She crawled over him, a deep smirk on her face. It was, indeed, the naughtiest smirk he had ever seen her use.

"A boner?" she asked.

_What is so funn - Oh!_ He took the risk of another slap. "Amy, what's gotten into you?"

"Hopefully, you." And then her mouth was on his mouth.

He had no idea what had happened to his wife, but, he discovered, he really didn't care. _Good Lord, what a kiss!_ He reached up to run his thumbs over her nipples, and she shuddered. Pulling away from his lips, she grabbed his shoulders, and he rolled with her. She murmured in his ear, "Touch me."

"Already?" he whispered.

"I've been ready ever since you put that tie on." She said it brazenly, not whispering.

_Amy tonight! _he thought.

"Speaking of which, can I take it off? And the shirt? You know I don't like to be half -" he stopped. He saw the flash across her face. Disappointment. He regretted asking. "Never mind."

He bent in for another kiss, and he brought his hand down to her center. She moaned softly into his mouth. He kissed her deeper, mimicking the actions of his fingers with his tongue. She pulled away, her breath coming fast and hard. He moved on to her neck and her wonderful collar bones.

Then he heard it, the first inhalation, sooner than he would have thought. _Fascinating._ Five inhalations and the cry. Just when he was about to stop and pull his hand away something happened. Namely, another short inhalation. Then two more and anther cry.

Had she just . . . ? Had he just made her . . . ? Her skin, her beautiful skin, was flushed and glistening; her eyes, her beautiful eyes, were so bright. His ribcage expanded with pride. _Eat your heart out, James Bond!_

She smiled at him, that smile. Then she pulled at his crisp white shirt, and he came into her. She felt better than any Bond babe he could ever imagine.

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_**AN: **__**As always, reviews are read and loved!**_


	3. Dreams

**The Dreams (takes place after _The Hound of the Baskervilles_)**

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_Amy laughed again, and he reached out for her, pulling her closer. "Will this make you too hot?"_

"_No. But__ no ideas, Dr. Cooper."_

* * *

She heard his breath deepen, and then she fell asleep herself, wrapped in his arms.

He dreamt that he was upon the moor, running through the cold night air. The hound was upon him, the hoof-beats coming ever closer, its howling carrying through the stillness. But its bays were not the typical cries of a dog; instead they sounded like numbers, numbers coming louder and faster, one after another. The numbers made no sense, there was no logical order to them. As he ran, his heart beat ever faster. Then he saw it upon a ridge: a turret, a relic of old fortress. He ran to this fortification, he ran around it, trying to find a way inside. He closed his eyes and asked, under his breath, for the fortress to take him. Suddenly, he was inside and all was calm and quiet. His heart slowed. The answer to the equation the dog was barking was seventy-three.

She dreamt that she knocked on the door of 221B, and the door opened without anyone answering it. She climbed the stairs to the study, but it was empty. The room was in turmoil, papers and books and cards strewn everywhere. Suddenly she had a wand, and she waved it, twirling it in the air until the room was clean. Then he was in the room, standing and smoking his pipe, but she didn't know where or when he had come from. He said, "Capital improvement, my dear, you are the only one who knows how to clean up this disarray." And then she was hugging him, and he smelled like pecan pie.

At some point in the night, he stole the sheet. Shortly thereafter, despite the prior complaints about the heat, the chill in the room drove her to start burrowing under him, her face deep in his back. Neither of these acts awoke them. It was their custom, and it was as comforting as all their other routines.

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**AN: Well, I did promise painfully short . . . don't hate me. Thank you for the (hopefully still) kind reviews.**


	4. Self-Control

_**Self-Control (takes places after **_**The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry**_**)**_

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"_Dance with me. Even though it's not prosaic." She walked to the middle of the living room. He smiled, her favorite smile, and got up to her join her._

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The first song ended and they smiled once more at each other.

"Again? We should dance more often," Sheldon said.

"Yes," Amy replied but it ended with a yawn.

"Poor kid, you really are exhausted."

"Sorry. It was my idea, and I'm spoiling it."

Sheldon dropped his hands and walked over to her computer. The music stopped. "No, we'll do it again another night. We'll schedule it."

Amy smiled at him again, softer. "Sheldon, would you mind if I went to bed instead of watching TV with you?"

"Go. I'll clean up the kitchen." He walked back toward her.

She reached up and put a kiss on his cheek before leaving for the bathroom.

Sheldon applied himself to cleaning. _Ah, the simple joys! _But when everything was cleaned to his satisfaction, he felt at loose ends. He wasn't sure why. He kept thinking back to Amy's tired face. Work never made him tired. He would always eagerly talk about any project, no matter how long he'd been working on it. And Amy normally loved to talk about her work. She really was the most exhausted he'd ever seen her tonight, and it unsettled him.

Frowning, he went to the bedroom. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her shoes off but otherwise she was still dressed. She was playing idly with her hair.

"Amy?" She jumped. "Are you okay?"

She smiled softly. "I guess I zoned out there. I was going to braid my hair, but I just sort of . . ." She shrugged.

"Here," he sat on the bed next to her, "let me."

She turned away and let him smooth her hair. "I still can't believe you know how to braid hair."

"It's not very difficult. A chimpanzee could do it." His fingers deftly worked the three sections into a manageable plait.

"Sadly, I suspect that study has already been done." She sighed.

Sheldon finished the braid, allowing a minute to pass before speaking. "Amy?"

She reached over her shoulder with the hair elastic, and, even though he took it, it was not want he wanted. "Are you alright?" He wrapped the end of her braid.

Turning back around toward him, Amy shook her head. "I'm fine. I really am just tired. And, well," she looked down, "sometimes after I finish I study I wonder if it's any good enough."

"What? Why do you think that? The only person as smart as you is me." What had happened to Amy's bravado?

"I know. I really do know. But sometimes . . ."

"Amy Farrah Fowler, listen to me. I do not, repeat, do not, pair-bond with average people. You are the most intelligent person I know. If someone doesn't understand something in your work, then they are clearly wrong." He leaned over to kiss her softly, but he brought his hands up the buttons on her cardigan.

Silently, he unbuttoned her cardigan and slid it off her shoulder. He folded it next to them on the bed. Then he repeated the steps with her blouse. He wasn't sure, exactly, what he was doing. Amy let him, but her face was unreadable. He thought maybe he should leave her alone, to sleep, that is what she had asked for; but he didn't want to leave her without her knowing how perfect she was. But it felt wrong to start this, to ask her to do something for which she was too tired. Maybe if he could find a way to relax her instead.

"Amy, would you like me to massage your back?" _Massages are supposed to be relaxing._

Her eyes lit up. _I've pleased her. _She nodded. "Let me take these off first."

She stood and removed her skirt, tights, and, he noticed after a barely perceptible pause, her bra. He took them from her and folded them on the pile. Pulling her braid away from her back, she sat down again, presenting her back to him, awaiting the promised rub.

Except Sheldon had no idea what to do. _Why does this always happen to me? Why does Amy always drive me to do something spontaneous, when I am clearly uncomfortable with the concept of spontaneity?_ He frowned.

"If you take your right hand and -" she said.

"No, I'll do it," he interrupted her. It would not be relaxing for Amy to tell him what to do. But he was quickly regretting his offer, because he needed time to research this first. His only experience with anything close to a massage had been when Amy had instructed him on how to soothe the tension from his own shoulder.

And that is where he would start. Remembering her own precise instructions, he started the sequence. He was using his knuckles in noogie-like fashion when she let out something between a deep breath and a moan.

_Oh boy._ He cursed his body. _This was meant to be relaxing to Amy, not foreplay!_ He took a couple of Kulinar breaths, trying to keep them as quiet as possible, and straightened his spine. _No, I will do this for her._

He repeated the same steps on the opposite shoulder, and then started to knead the top of her shoulders like they were balls of sour-dough bread (_kneading is like massaging, right?_). "Is this okay?"

"Mmmm, it's nice."

Her appreciation was encouragement. He took his thumbs and pushed down lightly on either side of her spine. Making circles, he pushed a little harder. Amy gave another little breath-moan and leaned forward slightly. Sheldon slowly inched the circular rubs all the way down her spine.

Taking his hands away from her, he was at a new loss. What now?

"Sheldon? Would you mind rubbing my legs?"

_Double oh boy._ The last time, the only time, he'd massaged her legs . . . "Um . . . okay. Maybe you should lie down."

"Yes." She got up and started pulling the covers down. He jumped up to move the pile of clothes to the hamper, refusing to look at his topless wife.

She laid down on her side of the bed and closed her eyes. He was glad he had braided her hair, because the very idea of it fanned across her pillow was almost too much. He picked up one of her feet and starting rubbing it while keeping a steady gaze on juncture of the ceiling and the wall.

"What are you looking at?"

"I thought your eyes were closed." _Now I have to look at her._

"They were, but I opened them."

"Uh, well shut them again. This is supposed to be relaxing. Shut your eyes. And don't talk. That's not, um, relaxing."

She shut her eyes again, but not before Sheldon saw the twinkle in them. The twinkle both mortified him (_she knows of my struggle!_) and made the struggle worse (_the twinkle drives me mad!_).

Sheldon worked his way up one leg, making deep, squeezing motions. When he made it up as far as he dared (_am I perspiring?_), he started on her other leg. He heard her breathing deepen.

Was she asleep? When he finished her second leg, he bent down to her ear and whispered, "Do you want a nightgown?"

She didn't answer. He softly kissed her forehead. He wanted to tell her so many things. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was when she slept. He wanted to tell her how much she excited him in the most carnal of ways even at inopportune times. Most of all, he wanted to tell her that she was astute and perceptive and resourceful and exceptional and wise. He wanted to tell her that her brilliance was brighter than any sun in the universe. He wanted to tell her that he never wanted her to think otherwise.

Instead, because he was Sheldon Cooper, he whispered, "I love you, Amy."

He got up, pulled the blankets over her, turned off the light, and went to take a much-needed shower.


	5. Making Up

**Making Up (takes place after _Soulless_)**

* * *

_Sheldon nodded. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go home and apologize to my wife. And we still have a book to discuss."_

* * *

Amy glanced up at the time on the top of her screen. Based on when she received Penny's text, Sheldon should be home soon.

She sighed softly. Ever since he left, panic in his eyes, she had oscillated between frustration and regret. Frustration that her brilliant husband was worse than Peter Pan. Regret that she had handled it poorly. Maybe she shouldn't have sprung it on him. She certainly should have waited until after Book Club.

But not surprise. She was not surprised that he would become frightened and flee. Thus the regret, she should have planned this better. She was a little angry, too, not because he had left, but because he hadn't called or texted himself with his whereabouts. She had not been frightened, really, because he would be going to one of three places, she knew: Leonard's new house, Howard's apartment, or the comic book store.

Just then, she heard his keys in the lock. He entered quietly. She did not turn around. She was not going to indulge him. She waited for him to remove his bag and hang up his jacket, pretending to be engrossed in the random article on Wikipedia (skeleton at the 2010 Winter Olympics; _please, Sheldon, don't look too closely_).

He came and stood by her desk. "I'm sorry, Amy."

"For what?" It came out like anger, but it was really shock. That was the fastest apology yet.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Uh . . . for leaving like that?" He phrased it as a question.

"Well, you should be. It was rude and immature." That was true. "I've been worried sick, wondering where you were." That was maybe an exaggeration.

"I know."

"And you ruined Book Club!" She really was angry about that. She loved Book Club.

"I know. We can talk about it now."

"Maybe the moment has passed." It hadn't. She would still talk about the book.

He actually looked crestfallen at that.

"Sheldon Cooper, I am not your mother. Leonard is not your father or -" her hand flitted "- whatever. I will not drive you to soccer practice for the rest of your life. You need to learn to drive. Also, I am not your handmaiden. I will not sit at home and wring my hands in agony and fear over what childish thing you have done this time." These were not the logical, irrefutable arguments she had prepared, and she knew it even as she said them.

There were three types of serious Cooper-Fowler disagreements. The first, the most common, was a terse but mostly temperate discussion that involved a lot of sighing and eye rolling and sometimes a chart until a mutually satisfying compromise was reached. The second, the rarest, was an alarming and regrettable affair with balled fists and shouts that resulted in two slammed bedroom doors and Amy crying and a night spent apart.

Then there was the third type, another type altogether, in which the words are welded as epees and the heat rose in the room until they exploded. This type of disagreement, Amy believed, was never about the thing they were supposedly disagreeing about. She thought that when this happened the conclusion was already known, one of them had already acquiesced, and the motions were observed to save pride. And, well, because . . .

She did not know yet exactly which type this one was.

"Well, you left me wringing my hands once. Over this exact desk, as I recall." He stabbed the corner of her desk for emphasis.

Amy felt the back of her neck get warm. Sheldon was bringing up an unrelated topic. _Oh, it's on. _"Well, you had to get Leonard to drive you to find me, so I think my point is proven."

"But at least I came to find you. I've never turned the tracking off on my phone, you know. You could have found me tonight!"

"We had fought first then! We didn't fight tonight!" She stood up and crossed her arms.

"What do you think we're doing now?" He crossed his arms back at her.

"We're -" Amy stopped. Because she had no idea what to say next. So much for lengthy verbal sparring that would have Roget weeping for joy. _Point, Sheldon Cooper. _Should she tell him her theory?

Then she saw it in his eyes. A spark. He knew. He knew he'd just won that match. He had also already surrendered in the war. She also knew exactly what he was going to do next.

Ever so slightly, his left eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch. It was a dare. She gritted her teeth. The eyebrow went higher. _No, I will not._ The eyebrow reached its zenith. Her uterus quaked.

He growled. "Dr. Fowler."

She was on him at the speed of light, pushing him back into the bookcase, grabbing the sides of his face, branding him with her mouth. They only came up for air.

"Bedroom?"

"Too far away."

"Agreed."

Later, Amy didn't remember who said what. She never did.

Stumbling, pushing, pulling, clawing, they made their way toward the sofa. One minute his tee shirts were on, the next they were flung against the closet door. Their shoes were kicked way. There was no time to unbutton Amy's cardigan, it came over her head, too. Between kisses. He scratched her back, on purpose, as he unhooked her bra. She nimbly bit his chest while she unbuckled his pants.

"Ouch!"

"Too much?"

"Not really."

His hands were on her breasts, teasing them into a frenzy. Her hand was down his pants, teasing him into a frenzy.

"Why do you insist on wearing tights?"

"Why do you insist on wearing clothes?"

They separated just long enough to rid themselves of the offending garments. Then they were together again, skin against skin.

"The sofa?"

"The cushions!"

"The blanket?"

"The rug?"

"The blanket."

They were on the floor, protecting the rug with the blanket, his hands were in her hair, and her mouth was on his neck. His hands were between her thighs, and her voice cried out.

"You feel so good."

"You feel better."

She was on him, and he was inside her. She used her hips, he used his. Her head was in the crook of his neck, he wrapped his arms tighter around her, and his breath came in a moan.

Amy rolled off of him, hair tangled, short on oxygen. "That was hot."

He reached for her hand and squeezed it in agreement. Because Sheldon would never say anything as vulgar as that.

Her heart rate slowing, she put her head on his chest. He put his arm around her, weaving their fingers together over his heart. "Amy, do you ever think maybe we shouldn't do this anymore?"

"Angry sex? Make-up sex? Living room rug sex?"

"Exactly. It's sex, but I'm not certain it's making love."

She gently kissed the red mark she had made on his chest. "I disagree. It's different. But it's still us. And this part is definitely making love."

"But it's so illogical."

"I think it's highly logical. It's the exception that proves the rule."

"That phrase has never been logical and never will be. Vulcans would never say that. Vulcans would never have sex this way."

Amy smiled. "I'm pretty sure this is exactly how Vulcans have sex."

"Amy!"

Her smile broke into a chuckle. "Have you seen _Star Trek_? It's sex or fighting to the death. Obviously, the Vulcans have some serious repression issues. Plus, we know that the cortical levels rise and fall sporadically, as the brain's regulatory system appears to shut down when serotonin levels become unbalanced. Endorphins raise to dangerous levels. I think it's probably very, very hot."

Sheldon looked down at her. "When did you learn so much about Pon Farr?"

"First of all, I do pay attention when we watch _Voyager_. Secondly, maybe I," she coughed slightly, "sort of read up on it."

"When?" He shifted slightly and reached over for the pillow from the sofa that had fallen on the floor close to them. He gave it to Amy, who put her head on the edge. She curled toward him and he curled toward her, his head on the opposite edge, their faces very close, his arm around her.

"Awhile ago. I'm a neurobiologist. It's a neurochemical imbalance. It intrigued me."

"Really?"

"Yes. Did you know that there are more episodes dealing with Pon Farr in _Voyager_ than any other series? But _Voyager_ also breaks its own rules, because it's less than seven years between the two times Tuvok goes into Pon Farr. Which isn't necessary, because _Voyager_ also informs us that Vulcans can mate outside of Pon Farr." She frowned.

"What?"

"I will concede that it may start sedate. From what we've seen, we assume that Vulcan sex starts with the Vulcan form of kissing, a form of physical contact to aid in the performance of telepathy, which I take to mean sending affection and possibly erotic thoughts to the other person." She fell silent. She reached down for his hand on her side, and caressed his index finger and middle finger with her first two fingers.

"Like this," she said. Sheldon was looking at her very keenly, even as her hand fondled his. Her glasses were somewhere, and his being this close put him in sharp relief.

Then he lifted his hand and returned the actions of her fingers. "Go on."

He let go of her hand and reached up to play with a tendril of her hair. He looked . . . no, surely not. And was that . . . no, surely not.

"Well, there is a lot we don't know about it. Scientifically speaking, I mean. We know that a Vulcan has to mate within eight days or die. Both men and women experience Pon Farr, but it's never explained if they're on the same cycle. My theory is that when the two mates are telepathically linked as children that their Pon Farr cycles are aligned. The only two options other than sex are the Kal-if-fee and intense meditation, neither of which - whommff."

Sheldon had rolled over with her, and his lips were on her face. "Sheldon? What are you doing?"

"What does it seem like?" And he ground into her, to prove his point. "Go on."

"Right now? So soon?" Where was her charmingly groggy husband?

"It must be blood fever." He ran his hands down her sides and hips. "Either keep talking or I'll have to kiss you."

"Dr. Cooper!" She laughed, she couldn't help it. She did not know if it was just absurd or maybe kinky, but it was it was certainly delicious (she liked the idea of kinky, too). Her laugh was interrupted by his tongue, and she melted into it.

Then he was hers again, tenderly this time, and he whispered in her ear, "It's making love."

* * *

**_AN: Thank you for your patience. My plan, at least for now, is to try to alternate stories, one each week. And thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	6. The Words

**The Words (takes place after _Flatland_)**

* * *

"_Amy, wait." She turned to look at Sheldon. "I'm sorry about what I said before. Because it wasn't true. I do hang off your every word."_

_She smiled again. "I know."_

* * *

They did not make love that night. Instead, they ate the pizza, deciding together that even though it was good it was easier to order it. They stayed up past their usual bedtime watching _Masterpiece_ together ('Only _because Amy loves it so much, _not_ because I was dying to know what happened next to Lady Edith_,' Sheldon thought). They drifted to bed and drifted off to sleep, after a gossip session in which they questioned whether or not Bernadette would kill Howard before the baby came.

Sheldon awoke in the dark, slightly confused, and glanced at the bedside clock. Four-thirty. He rubbed his eyes. Why was he awake so early? He almost always woke up a few minutes before the alarm went off, his brain and body conditioned for the mental stimulation of work. But two whole hours?

Was it guilt? Shame? He knew, lying the dark, that he had behaved childishly last night. He should not have gotten so angry over a book. They were just words, after all, words on a page. Amy was just expressing her opinion. Although she seemed to have forgiven him. Or wasn't even really mad at him to begin with, he wasn't sure. Amy.

He nuzzled in closer to Amy. He loved Amy in the mornings. He loved her tangled, fuller hair. He loved the way her eyelashes lay across her cheeks. He loved the sound of her barely there snores. He loved the warmth of her body. He loved the smell of her skin. He took a deep breath of her. _Amy._

Before he considered it, he was making circles on her hip with his palm. She murmured into the darkness and rolled over in his arms toward him. "Wha -"

"Shhh," he whispered in her ear. He thought he should apologize for waking her early on a work day and tell her to go back to sleep, but he didn't want to speak. Last night, he had told her he hung on every word she said. It was true. But last night, there were too many words. This morning, there was only one word upon which he wanted to hang. And only one infliction in which he wanted it spoken.

He kissed her, softly at first and then deeper. Then he pulled away, and loosened his grip. He was giving her the choice again, even though she had already rolled into him instead of batting his hand away from her hip.

Amy kissed him and grasped his pajama shirt. Her answer. She started to unbutton his shirt, and they worked together to remove their nightwear.

They met again in the middle of the bed, naked and warm. They kissed passionately, their mouths speaking to each other without words. Then Sheldon took her by the shoulders, and tried to encourage her to roll. Would she understand? He did not want to say it, he did not want to talk.

After a few seconds, Amy rolled. She had understood. This pleased him greatly. He hugged her from behind kissing her neck and shoulders and shoulder blades, using his hands on her breasts and stomach. She leaned deeply back into him, breathing hard, pressing against his arousal, an achingly wonderful feeling.

She took one of his hands and guided it down. He loved that, that Amy had understood his need for a version of silence. Appreciative for his height, he was able to pleasure her like this. He smiled deeply into her ear when she cried out. Kissing her ear, he gave her a moment to recover.

Ages ago, when it occurred to Sheldon that coitus could be more than just one act, that it could, in fact, include a lot of separate little acts including touching a woman like that, he had been horrified. This had seemed worse, somehow, then just the bathing suit areas meshing together. His hands, there, of all places, for goodness sake! Of course, at the time, coitus was not in his future so he put the disgusting thought away because it clearly would not be in his future, either. But then, and this always happened with Amy, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Why wouldn't he want to touch her there? He wanted to touch her everywhere.

Sometimes he was jealous of Amy. She had all these secrets, hidden way from him, awaiting discovery. He always felt so obvious when Amy touched him. No secrets there. True, a couple of times she had stumbled upon something that had never crossed his mind that would be especially enjoyable, like that thing she did to his nipples. But, Amy, _wonderful Amy_, was a Pandora's box of delights, never fully opened. There was one delight he wanted to find again this morning.

Guiding with his hand, he rubbed the tip of himself against her bottom. Would she understand? She curled her legs up for him. She understood. Gently, he found his way into her, still holding her. He gave a couple of slow thrusts, allowing her adjust. She adjusted the angle of her legs once, and then again. The second adjustment was obviously the correct one, because she responded to his next thrust with a deep moan. He held her even tighter, and started moving faster. He remembered that is how she liked it this way, and he took great pleasure in her rattling moans.

Until she said the word he was longing to hear, just the way he yearned for it. It came out high and fast and full of exquisite joy. "Sheldon!"

Notwithstanding his previous wish for only one word, a moment later he said a word he had not expected to say. It came out long and low and full of sublime commitment. "Amy!"

He buried his face in her hair and took another deep breath. After their breaths slowed, Amy rolled over again and buried her face in his chest. They fell asleep that way, hanging off of each other.

* * *

_**AN: Oh, my blushes! **_


	7. Knowing

**Knowing (takes place after _Northanger Abbey_)**

* * *

_Walking toward him, she gave the smile and look she gave when he had pleased her. But how had he pleased her?_

_"Look, he's almost asleep," she said._

_Sheldon looked down. Indeed, Jacob's eyelids were hovering near closure. Oh, I pleased Amy by putting him back to sleep._

_"Do you want me to take him?" Amy asked._

_"No, I'll hold him. You said never to wake a sleeping baby," Sheldon replied._

* * *

Amy had heard it before, although not often, this slight but sharp recurring beat deep inside her. She always ignored it. Most recently, she had heard it more frequently with every coo she uttered. She continued to ignore it.

But that night, after the initial joy from the words she had overheard Sheldon say subsided, it was strong. It lingered, no matter how hard she tried not to look over him holding Howard and Bernadette's infant son while they watched television. _Tick tick._ He would grunt in his sleep, and Sheldon would look down at him, alarmed. _Tick._ Sheldon said his arm was tired and she took Jacob back from him, the heaviness warm in her arms._ Tick._ She sat down and involuntarily bent slightly to take in his soft, powdery aroma. _Tick._ She ran her hand across the downy almost-hairs of his head. _Tick._ She let him take her finger firmly in his grasp, his tiny fingernails the definition of perfection. Tick. Every few minutes, she unwittingly stroked his cloudy soft cheek with her finger. _Tick tick tick tick tick._

She heard a knock on the door, and their friends were back. There was a flurry of activity and thank yous and good-byes until they were gone._ Tiiiicccccck._

"Amy?"

"Hmmm?" She turned away from the door.

"I asked if you wanted to watch something else." Sheldon frowned. Her lack of focus annoyed him, she knew.

"Oh, sorry. Yes, let's watch something."

"Proposals?"

"Whatever you want."

He cocked his head slightly before releasing it in an almost shrug. "Very well."

And then they were in their spots, watching_ Castle_ on the DVR. Amy took his hand, and he clasped hers back, as they sometimes did. After a bit, she let go of his hand and curled up instead, laying her head in his lap. She felt his body almost imperceptibly tense for a millisecond and his head dip as he looked down at her because this was not something they did. She wondered if he would ask, she could feel his query hovering in the air; but it passed and he turned his face back toward the screen, resting his hand on her shoulder.

Her shoulders relaxed from a tension she did not know they had. She did not want to discuss it, not even with Sheldon. Sheldon, dear Sheldon!, never had a man been so loved. But never had a man asked more questions. The entire world was intriguing to him, so many things to discover and learn about and know. Normally, almost always, she savored his questions, questions she knew he would only ask her. But saying she did not want to talk about it would not be an acceptable answer, it would only frustrate him and elicit more questions. He hated it when she said that.

She did not want to discuss it because she could not explain it. It wasn't that it was irrational; it was a widely accepted belief, the psychological phenomena caused by a proven physical mechanism. But conventional wisdom wasn't easy to explain. It wasn't about the hard and fast rules of physics, it was about metaphysics.

When their show ended, Sheldon turned off the television and announced it was bed time. So it was.

"Go ahead, I'll be there in a minute. There's something I want to do first," Amy said. She went to her computer, and Sheldon went to the bathroom although she thought maybe there was subtle pause before he walked away. No, she must have imagined it.

She waited, aimlessly checking Facebook and Intstagram, until she heard him leave the bathroom and go to the bedroom. Only then did she go brush her teeth and her hair, taking longer with those nightly tasks than necessary.

Sheldon, of course, was waiting for her. He was lying in bed, but his arms were folded behind his head in an entirely unusual pose for him. It was almost enough to make her smile, but she was not in the mood to smile. She suspected he had counted each extra second she had spent coming to the bedroom and puzzling over them, and he was trying to look casual.

Amy also noticed he was wearing pajamas, and this eased her. She was not in the mood for that, either, so she put on her flannel night gown and crawled into bed.

"Good night, Sheldon," she said and rolled on her side, facing away from him, trying not to the think about the look she had seen on his face in the split second she started to roll away from him.

"Good night, Amy," he replied and he turned off his bedside lamp, throwing the room into darkness.

They lay still for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, although Amy was trying her best to push her thoughts away from her and replace them with something else. Eventually, Sheldon rolled toward her and wrapped his arms around her, although she couldn't deny he waited longer than normal and his arm felt hesitant.

"Amy?" He whispered in her ear.

"Yes?" She almost sighed, thinking she was going to have to talk about it after all. But she didn't sigh; there was something there, something soft in his voice, that stopped her.

"Roll over. I want to tell you something," he said gingerly.

She did. He brought one hand up and caressed her cheek with the back of it, before resting his palm in her hair. Even though the dark made his blue eyes look black, she could see the intensity in them.

"I love you." He brought his other hand up and griped both sides her face, with gentle force. Not painfully, but with enough pressure to make her notice. He put his forehead against hers, not just touching but pushing a tiny bit. "I. Love. You. I l_ove_ you. I love y_ou_. You. You."

She knew, then, that he has heard it, the faint tapping in her soul. He was telling her so. She did not know, though, what else he was trying to tell her. She did not know if he was trying to sooth it away or if he was promising it would come some day. She did not know if he even knew. Whatever it was, he did not know the words, so he told her the words he did know.

She did know that he meant it, that his love was a force he could not express, just as she knew he meant whatever this other thing was he could not express. She did know that her entire life was spent waiting for those moments, lying with him in the dark, and even now her days were filler between them. She did know that she loved him with such devotion it swam around her and through her, and the sound of it rushing in her ears had the power to drown out all other sounds. Sheldon was, is, will be more than enough.

As she nodded, he released her and caressed her cheek one more time. She buried her face the crook of his neck, and fell asleep there, hearing only the sound of his breathing.

* * *

**_AN: Thank you for your reviews._**


	8. Self-Expression

**Self-Expression (takes place after _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_)**

* * *

_"In the home where the most intimate human relations hold, there is an atmosphere of affection and confidence, permitting full self-expression."_

_Forgetting completely about the tea kettle, he watched Amy, falling in love with her a little bit more._

* * *

Sheldon watched her, across the room, concentrating on her computer screen, knowing there were depths to her that he did not understand. He looked back down at the open book.

"Self-expression," it said.

More than once, Amy had told him that one of the things she loved most about him was that he was never afraid of being exactly who he was. He did not entirely understand this concept; who else would he be? But now he thought that maybe she was talking about self-expression. Was this quote, and by extension Amy, talking about the verbalization of ideas? He would have said he excelled at the verbalization of ideas. The explanation of an abstract idea, after all, was his life's work.

Except, well . . . "the most intimate of human relations." He rarely talked about that. (Still, years later, he was flummoxed by the memory of the day he volunteered to get the die from across his bedroom and verbalize things, physical things, to Amy. It was as though some strange Sheldon, a Sheldon from the future, perhaps, had travelled through time to help him. The whole experience still boggled his mind.) Sometimes, of course, it couldn't be helped. Whispering in the dark made it easier. But he was mostly content to let Amy talk about it. He was inclined to think she liked talking about it, especially right afterwards. If he did feel the need to ask her a question, she wasn't the least embarrassed to tell him every detail. She was more verbal than him, during, too. Surprisingly, he found he didn't mind, but he did not know if he enjoyed it just for the sound of her voice, her own excitement reflecting off of him, or if the words themselves lent power to the excitement. And Amy was a biologist, of course; was it because biological functions were surely ordinary to her that she could talk so easily about their intimate relations?

There was one phrase that Amy loved to hear, he knew, one phrase he rarely used. Not that he didn't feel it; in fact, he never ceased being surprised at how powerfully he felt it. It just wasn't something he often said, it just felt . . . strange in his mouth. But Amy loved it. He loved her. And,_ oh boy,_ he really felt it in that moment. It wasn't an abstract idea at all, so surely he was capable of expressing this to her, his wife. He shut the textbook and walked over to her.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Finding and sending this recipe to Raj that he asked about," she answered, not looking at him.

"It is urgent?"

"No." She looked up. "Why?"

"Because," he bent down to whisper in her ear, "I want you."

He saw her face flush. _I've pleased her._

"Mmmm, do you, Dr. Cooper? Well, in that case . . ." She started to get up.

He gently put his hand on her shoulder. "Wait. First, I want to, um . . . I'm going to tell you what I plan on doing."

She raised her eyebrows and her eyes twinkled. He loved the twinkle. She eased back into the chair. "Okay. I'm listening."

_Oh, Albert Einstein, this was bad idea. What do I say? _"First, after I disrobe you, I am going to use my superior longitudinal tongue muscle on your lobulus auriculae in an undulating motion. Then, I am going to use that same muscle on your papilla mammaria and areola in a orbicular motion until you vellicate. After that -"

Amy put her hand on his arm. He stopped. "What? Is not the order you would prefer?"

"No, it's not that." She signed softly. "Have you seen that episode of _Friends_ where Rachel starts dating the gynecologist, and he asks her if she wants to make coffee at home after making it all day at work?"

"I don't understand a single word of that sentence." Sheldon was frustrated. What had he done wrong? And why on earth would Amy start babbling about unrelated nonsense at a time like this? _Oh, no, was it that bad?_

"Never mind, bad example. It's just that, well . . . it's so very clinical when you say it that way."

"But I thought you would like it. It's scientific. And you like it when I try new things."

"Oh, Sheldon," she grasped his hand. "I like the idea of it very, very much. But when you say it that way, well," she shrugged, "it sounds like work."

Then he understood. He did not like it to be work, either; in fact, that was the exact phrase he had used with her when he told her he wanted to stop using the _Kama Sutra_ (how embarrassed he had been talking about that!). "How should I say it?"

She smiled. "I like . . . euphemisms, allusions, things like that. I like to use my imagination."

"Euphemisms aren't really my forte."

"I know." She kissed the back of his hand. "So don't worry about it, then."

Sheldon nodded. He still felt the clutch of failure, but it was fading. Amy always said the right things. "I think the mood has dissipated hasn't it?"

"The night is still young. Maybe later."

"Indeed." He squeezed her hand and let it go. He went to his own computer, his mind churning.

* * *

Reading at his computer, he heard her stand even before she spoke. "I'm going to bed, Sheldon."

He closed his program. "I'll join you."

Their evening rituals firmly in place, they didn't need to speak. Sheldon undressed with his usual precision, and climbed nude into bed. He watched Amy undress with interest; he always loved it when he managed to get into bed before her. She was not so precise, she just threw things into the hamper, but he found this charming if unexplainable. He saw her glance furtively over at him, gauging his state of dress or undress. She lifted the covers up and slid in next to him, her naked skin brushing his. He turned off the beside lamp and rolled toward her, immediately pulling her lips to his.

Her lips were tracing his ear when he whispered, "Amy?"

"Mmmmmmm," was her only reply.

"I, uh, well, um," he cleared his throat and she pulled away from him. He forced himself to look the outline of her face. "Um, your body is an ivory pillar, a Grecian statue of such nobility and grace the gods weep in anguish. Your hair, your hair!, it so dark and deep that even a moonless night cannot contain it. When I gaze into your eyes, I can only see the ends of the earth. I long to whisper sweet nothings in your ear until you are full of them. I will kiss your lips of Cupid and drink from you, partaking of your honied soul. And then I will take my small, pink lingual organ and lap against your soft earlobe until I hear the murmuration of your gilded throat. Meanwhile, I will use my nimble digits to release your heaving bosom from its linen imprisonment. Once your powdery snowcaps are liberated, I shall stroke them with my palm until I attend you to moan upon the cold winter's air. At last, unable to contain my ceaseless passion, I shall take one of your delicate, pale rosebuds into my mouth and coddle it until you beseech me to -"

Amy put her hand upon his arm for the second that evening. He seethed. _What is wrong this time? This is hopeless!_

"Sheldon, have you been composing these florid words all evening?" she asked. But she sounded slightly breathless.

"I, uh, well, if you must know," he felt his cheeks flush, "I looked up an M-rated_ Pride and Prejudice_ fanfic. Because I noticed at the book store that you, uh, well you looked aroused when I repeated what you said about Mr. Darcy being randy. But I'm beginning to think it was poorly written."

Amy laughed, loud and full. As always, Sheldon thought the sound of her mirth just might make his heart explode. She was not angry.

"It is poorly written, isn't it?" he asked. "Is it too much?"

"Oh, yes, it's complete rubbish. But, no, it's not too much." She pulled him in for a kiss. "And, for the record, it wasn't Mr. Darcy that aroused me. It was you. It's always you. So be still my beating heart with your magniloquent prose, Mr. Cooper." Another deeper kiss. "I believe I was just about to beseech you to do some indecorous thing to my person."

"Quite indecorous, indeed, fair lady. You beseech me to . . ."

* * *

**_AN: Oh, Shelly . . . Thank you for your reviews!_**


	9. Denial

_**AN: Surprise! There is an extra chapter for After Dark this week! It's a bit a surprise to me, too, as I wrote this chapter several weeks ago but wasn't going to post it as it doesn't meet my self-created rules for After Dark stories. But then a reader who is also a friend informed me that you'd all rather have an extra chapter than yours truly adhering to some sort of self-imposed rule. So here it is. And, no, it doesn't follow the rules. But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!**_

* * *

**Denial (takes place concurrent with_ Le Petit Prince_)**

* * *

_Apparently, he had also lost track of time, because when Amy softly asked him if he would mind if she went out with the girls, he had just shrugged. He was so disconnected he didn't know it was the last evening of the month._

* * *

"Ames! You made it!" Penny cheered from her seat at the table. "Watcha drinking tonight?"

Amy sat down between her two girlfriends. "Just water. I drove myself. No DD."

"Ah, you deserve some wine. We can give you a ride home," Bernadette offered.

"No, thank you. Then we'll have to come get the car later and it will be weird."

"Well, anyway, we're just glad you decided to come," Penny said after the waiter came to take their order. "What was it you thought you were doing tonight?"

Amy frowned. "Technically, it's Book Club Night. But Sheldon didn't read the book. I mean, I don't think so, because he hasn't said anything about it. I decided at the last minute I needed a night out. Not that Sheldon is likely to notice, so I don't know why I'm worried."

Her friends exchanged a look she was, unfortunately, becoming all too familiar with lately before beaming exaggerated smiles back at her.

"So, how's work?" Bernadette asked.

"Fine."

"And, uh, the harp?" Penny asked

"Fine."

"And . . . reading?" Bernadette asked.

"Fine."

"Hmmmm," Penny and Bernadette hummed in unison before exchanging another glance.

"Oh, I forgot!" Bernadette said. "I got the first proofs from the photographer today of Jacob's pictures. Let me pull up the link." She fiddled with her phone for a moment before passing it to Penny.

"Bernadette, he's adorable," Penny squealed as she flipped through the images. "These are so great! Now that he's finally getting some hair he looks more like you. And that smile!"

"Yeah, I think he's already mastered the art of flirting. I blame Howie."

Amy's friends chuckled, and then Amy realized she wasn't so she joined in. Penny passed her the phone. Jacob Wolowitz's chubby smile filled the screen. Amy flipped through as quickly as she thought she could and still be tactful. She could not deal with a happy baby. "Yes, these are good."

Another glance exchange.

"Well, girls, what should we do? If we want to recapture our youth, I'd say let's go dancing. But, honestly, I could eat a horse," Penny said

"Me, too, I haven't had dinner yet. We're in a Spanish bar, let's have tapas!" Bernadette replied.

Amy had no idea how long she had been staring down into her water glass before she noticed the silence. She looked up to see her friends looking at her. "Yes, food is fine."

"Perfect, here comes our waiter," Penny said. After she and Bernadette discussed and questioned and ordered for all of them, she spoke again, "I have some maybe good news. Remember that horrible SyFy movie I did? Where I was doing research in the arctic but there was rare arctic snow tsunami with crocodiles in it?"

"_Crocazard!_ Of course, we all went the premiere, remember?" Bernadette said excitedly.

"My agent called and said they're writing a sequel. Well, it's really the same story. Just in Antarctica this time with alligators, but you know."

"Penny, that's wonderful! To Penny and _Crocazard 2_!" She lifted her glass for a toast.

Another pause before Amy realized they were looking at her. She lifted her glass. "Yeah, to Penny."

After they all took a drink, Penny sat her drink down with a deep sigh. "Ames, sweetie, do you want to talk about it? Because it's obvious you're not paying any attention to our attempts to cheer you up."

Amy felt guilty. And exhausted. And exhausted of feeling guilty. It was one the few emotions in constant rotation this month: confusion, sadness, anxiety, and guilt. "I'm sorry. I guess I've not been much fun lately."

"Don't apologize to us. We're worried about you. And Sheldon. Have you guys talked about it?" Bernadette asked.

"MeeMaw? No. That would require an actual conversation. With complete sentences. If Sheldon managed five syllables in a row I'd be thrilled."

"Is he at least eating now? He's getting scary skinny," Penny said.

"No. I've tried all his favorites, but he just pushes it around his plate and picks at it and takes maybe three bites. I even asked his mother for her pecan pie recipe and slaved all afternoon on it, and that didn't work."

Penny and Bernadette nodded slowly and they all took a drink. No one spoke. Finally Amy took a deep breath. "Thanks for asking. And trying to help. Or at least cheer me up. But I just don't know what to do. The hardest part is that I think Sheldon doesn't realize that everything has changed. I think he thinks as long as he sticks to all his routines no one will notice. How do you deal with that? Isn't ending denial the first step any healing process?"

"Do you want me to talk to him? I didn't know I was depressed at first. I thought I was just tired and overwhelmed, that every new mother felt like that. Honestly," Bernadette blushed, "I might still be that horrible place if you hadn't sat me down and bluntly told me what you suspected, Amy. I'll always be grateful to you for that. Maybe I could repay the favor."

Bernadette reached across the table and squeezed her hand. Almost immediately, Amy felt a tear running down her cheek. She reached up with her free hand to stop it. "Sorry. I guess I'm emotional, too. And, well, if we're being honest, I'm starving for physical affection. Thank you for your offer. But I don't think he'd take it well from you. I think it has to be . . ." Amy's breath rattled as another unwelcome tear squeezed out. "I think I'm going to ask his mom to come. Because I obviously can't do it. Me, his wife. I'm such a failure!"

"Oh, sweetie, you're not a failure." Penny passed her a napkin. "Do you want to leave? I'll find our waiter and cancel our order. It will piss him off, but I'm sure he's used to it. There's always one table, and it'll just be us tonight."

"No, no," Amy patted her face. "That's it, I think. I just hadn't said it before. Knowing something and saying it out loud can be two different things."

"You're not a failure, Amy. You single handily turned Sheldon Cooper into a real boy. I'm sure this is just a rough patch, and you guys will be fine. You're perfect for each other!" Penny said.

"That only makes it worse. I feel so hopeless. I love him so much, but I can't seem to reach him. It's so hard to watch someone you love shrivel up like that, and you feel like you have no control over it. Maybe we're not so perfect together after all." Amy shrugged.

"Listen to me, Amy," Bernadette's voice turned gravelly and deeper. "Do not say that. I know you think we were all so drunk we wouldn't remember, but not so long ago you lectured Penny and me when we needed some tough love. Here's my tough love: yeah, your marriage sucks right now. Yes, Sheldon is probably depressed and acting like an asshole or whatever. But you did nothing wrong. I can't believe the Amy I know would ever be afraid to speak her mind. So you just need to sit that man of your's down, tell him that he needs help, and you're going to get it for him. Or maybe both of you, I won't pretend to know everything about your marriage."

Amy shook her head. "I'm not even sure he listens when I talk anymore. And there is no way I'll ever get Sheldon to a physiologist or someone like that. Although maybe just the threat would wake him up. Oh, I don't know. I keep thinking that one little thing will reach him."

"Do you want us to do it all together? Like an intervention?" Penny asked. "Because the guys are worried too, you know."

"I know. They've all come to talk to me." She shook her head again, recalling how embarrassed and sad those conversations had made her. "No, I think that's too confrontational."

There was another pause as they all stared into their respective drinks.

"When are you going to call his mom?" Bernadette asked.

"Soon, I guess."

"Sweetie, we'll support you whatever you decide to do. But I think I you need to do it before this goes on any longer," Penny said.

"Maybe you're right. I just wish we could figure this out ourselves. We're intelligent adults, right? We love each other. I refuse to believe otherwise. So why can't we do this?"

"I think you can," Bernadette said. "Penny's right, I'll support you no matter what you decide. But I don't think you need Mary Cooper. You just need each other."

_You just need each other._

Amy let the words roll about in her head. All she had never needed was Sheldon. She liked to think the same was true for him. She realized that perhaps she had been in a bit of denial herself this month. She nodded. "Give me a week, okay? I need to think of the best way to approach this. It probably won't be tomorrow. But I'll talk to him this week. You can hold me to it."

Penny and Bernadette smiled at her, and they were genuine smiles, not the forced over-large ones they had used earlier in the evening. Then their food came, and there was the usual busyness that always accompanies that.

"How about we go see a movie?" Penny asked.

"I'd love that. I haven't been to a movie since Jacob was born," Bernadette said.

"There's that new movie,_ Housewives_, that's the sequel to _Bridesmaids_. We could all use a laugh. It's about married women in the their thirties, just like us," Penny said.

"Penny, you're the only housewife," Amy said. "And you just turned thirty."

"No, I'm an actor currently between jobs. That's different. And all the women in the movie have jobs."

"Then why is it called _Housewives_?" Amy asked.

"I read it's supposed to be ironic. You know, just because even though a woman has a full-time job, she's still expected to do all the chores of a housewife, too," Bernadette answered. "Well, except maybe you, Amy. You're so lucky Sheldon is a neat freak and does his fair share of the cleaning and laundry."

"Yeah. The only freak in our house is Sara, and she only comes once a week and charges for it," Penny quipped.

"When you say it like that she sounds like a prostitute, not your cleaning lady," Amy said.

First Bernadette laughed, then Penny, and, finally Amy joined in. Laughing and remembering how good it felt to laugh, she knew they were right. She and Sheldon could fix this. They only needed each other. And maybe their friends.


	10. The Knot

**The Knot (take places after _Le Petit Prince_)**

* * *

_Early in the morning, Sheldon found Amy again and tied himself to her._

* * *

Amy rose up slowly, her mind still in the violet haze where everything is both possible and impossible, but her body already opening to the kisses on her face and the fingertips circling over her stomach. _Mmmmm, Sheldon. _It all felt so familiar and comforting and yet, every time, it made her heart race. _Yessss, Sheldon. _His kisses became more urgent, and she felt her nipples harden beneath his touch. _Ohhhh, Sheldon, why does it feel like it has been so long?_

Sheldon. Her eyes popped open. She knew he didn't notice, as his face was deep in her neck and collarbones. It had been exactly thirty-two days. She knew the date as surely as she knew her birthday, as surely as she knew the date she met him, as surely as she knew the date she finally become his. Sheldon had not even tried to kiss her in thirty-two days.

Her mind, now fully awake, began to fight her body. No, we shouldn't do this. _Yes, let__'__s. _No, we need to talk first. _We__'__ll talk later._ No, I should not give myself over to desire. _Desire feels so good. _This is not healthy, this is not a healthy way to rescue a relationship._ Sexually active people generally enjoy better health._ Her mind was winning, as her body had given up to her knowledge and logic. Despite their faults, they had never once used sex as a weapon or an excuse or a bandage; their living room floor sex was a game and they both knew it. And she was not going to allow it to start now.

Before she could speak, though, the kissing stopped.

"I"m sorry, Amy. I can't. I want to, but I can't. You deserve -" The last word came out as a sob. She pulled him in closer, and he slumped into her and let her hold him, soothing his hair while he cried. Fortunately, his tears did not last long that morning, unlike the night before. She heard his blubbering die away, leaving only raspy breathes.

"This is what we are going to do," she whispered into his ear, trying to convey both solace and certainty. "We are both going to take a personal day. Let's go back to sleep now since it's still so early and we'll sleep in. You've not been sleeping well. Once we're awake, I'm going to make you a huge breakfast of whatever you want, and you're going to eat it. All of it. You've lost too much weight. And then we're going to talk. Very seriously and for a long time."

She did not phrase it as a question or an optional plan. It was what they were going to do. She had come to concede Penny's point, at some point the prior evening, when Sheldon cried so long and hard in her arms that she was afraid he might become ill or hyperventilate, that she had let this, whatever this was, go on too long. It was her fault; she knew even that first week after MeeMaw died that something was very wrong with Sheldon. It was grief, she knew, but it was the deepest, darkest grief she had even seen; it had seemed to traverse through grief and into pathos.

Nothing happened for several minutes, and then Sheldon said, "Yes."

"Do you want me to leave the message for you?" she asked, letting go of him.

"No, I'll do it." They both reached for their phones, and they both called and left messages with their respective departments that they would not be in that day.

"I'm turning my phone off," Sheldon volunteered.

"Good idea." Amy did the same. Then she lay back down. She waited for the Sheldon to relax next to her, but he didn't. He was still sitting up, looking at her.

"Amy, do you mind - I think - can we talk now? At least for a little while?"

A tiny bubble of hope rose in her. She tried to keep her voice calm, afraid of breaking it. "Of course. Would you rather go to the living room? Have some tea?"

"No. I want to do it here." Then he laid down next to her, but she noticed that his movements seemed stiff. Neither of them moved to turn on a light; Amy hoped he would relax more in the dark, as he often did.

But now that she had finally broached this painful subject, she had no idea what to say, how to start the conversation. He didn't speak, either. But she knew she should not, they could not, ignore this one more hour.

"Sheldon -"

"Amy -"

She turned her head to look at him; he did the same. She curled up close to him and gingerly laid her head on his shoulder, tucking her arms in close to her chest. Despite the way the morning had started, it had been thirty-two days since Sheldon had allowed her touch him. He had cringed away from her attempts at comforting hugs, shimmied just out of reach of every attempt at a smallest, gentlest touch.

This time, though, he did not move away from her. Instead, he reached over and placed just his fingertips on her shoulder. It gave her the courage she needed.

"Sheldon," she started again, "I honestly don't know what to say. But I know something has to be said. I know it's going to be talking about your emotions, and you hate that, but . . ."

"I don't hate it with you."

"Then why didn't you talk to me for so long?" She regretted the sharpness as soon as it was out of her mouth. This was not the best approach. She should not make it sound like she was blaming him. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I'm not angry with you."

"It didn't come out wrong. It came out exactly right."

Hearing him say it, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, without a single hint of judgement, she experienced a reprieve for which she didn't even know she was waiting.

"Fine," she said, this time honestly, "I am angry with you. I am hurt. I am confused. I don't understand what I did wrong, I don't understand why you wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't let me help you, support you."

"I don't know. I wish I did. Please believe me, Amy, it's the truth. You didn't do anything wrong, but I know I treated you like you did. I don't know. I understand if you feel that's not good enough for you, because it's not. I was - I don't know how to describe it."

"Please try."

He sighed softly. "I will. It won't make any sense. It doesn't even make sense to me." He sighed again. "It was like I was in a dream. I knew everything that was happening, I felt like I was thinking clearly - maybe you'll disagree - but I felt like I was there. I remember having conversations, doing things I always do, but it was like I didn't . . . care. I felt like I wasn't myself, trapped in this uncertain, empty state. Even though I knew it wasn't like me, I couldn't get out of it. I was treading water. But . . . I think I felt like no one cared about me. Even though I knew it wasn't true. You've taught me so many things, Amy, and one of those things is how much you care. And not just you, my friends, too. But . . . I don't know. It was like MeeMaw was dead and I was sad, but after everyone said all these nice, sympathetic things, everything in their lives just went on like normal. But I don't have my MeeMaw to call every week. . . It's so illogical."

Amy reached up to wipe a tear off her cheek. "I don't just care. I love you."

"I know. You love me more than . . . Before I met you, I always thought this kind of love was a social construct, a delusion that people told themselves to make their lives easier or justify sex. That I was strong enough without it. But then I met you and I -" His voice broke, and he lifted his hand off of her to wipe his own face. She lay there, silently, letting him gather himself. "I don't understand what any of this has to do with MeeMaw. I loved her, too, but it was different, of course. I'm meandering and it's beneath me."

"I like it when you meander."

"You would."

Unbidden, a hint of a smile played on the edges of her mind. There was something in his voice that she had missed like mad. There was hauteur, to be sure, but there was mostly love. Love. She let the word melt in her brain. This was how the Sheldon of thirty-days ago would have teased her. The more recent Sheldon, the shell of a Sheldon, didn't have any interest in teasing her. He lacked spark. He was so distant, too far away to put any emotion into his words.

"Sheldon, I'm sure you understand that just because your friends move on with their lives, it doesn't mean they don't love you anymore or care about your loss. And I happen to know they've all been very worried about you."

"I do. I know. I feel foolish. MeeMaw was an elderly woman and her health has been poor recently. She still lived in Texas, I didn't see her every day or even every month. I shouldn't have been surprised."

"You can still feel sad and mourn someone even if you are prepared for their death. There's nothing wrong with that. And I'm not blameless. I let you go for too long, without trying to intervene. I'm sorry, Sheldon. I don't why I did that. I should have been honest with you sooner and stood up to you, made you face your feelings."

He shifted beneath her, and she moved off of him. He rolled on his side to look at her, and brought a hand up to her cheek. "Amy? Will we be okay? Have I ruined us?"

"Oh, Sheldon, you could never ruin us. It's my fault, too. We're always best when we just talk about things, and you were too sad or lost to talk and I was too afraid to make you talk and somehow we both lost sight of that. . ." She took a deep breath. "We'll be okay. We'll make sure of it. We'll be better than okay."

He nodded. "I want to say something. It's the most important thing I've ever said, and I'm so angry that I let myself go so long without saying it to you."

"Okay."

"I love you, Amy Farrah Fowler." He took her hand, kissed her palm and placed it on his stomach. Her thumb grazed his tenth rib, more exposed now that he was too thin. _This is bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh_; the words flitted across Amy's brain. Sheldon continued, "You hold the weak parts of me together. I'm sorry I forgot that."

Then he smiled at her, a sweet, sad, lovely smile. Slowly, he leaned toward her and kissed her very gently, his lips barely pressing against hers. "I'm so sorry, Amy."

"Oh, Sheldon, I'm so sorry, too." Amy batted back a tear, and it occurred to her she did not want to wallow in self-pity. "Listen, today, we can say that to each other. We probably ought to say it several times. But, beginning tomorrow, we won't say it again. Not about this. Tomorrow, we move forward."

He nodded. She took his hand in hers, and curled completely into him. They fell asleep. They would sleep in and eat a huge breakfast. They would sit on the sofa together, talking, for hours. In the dark again, she would fully open her body for him. But, that morning, with dawn just breaking over the horizon, she wove her fingers through his, feeling their rings touching, and they knotted themselves together while they slept.


	11. Being Wrong

**Being Wrong (takes place after _The Picture of Dorian Gray_)**

* * *

_Amy was so happy she did not want him disappointed in any way. "Dr. Cooper, there is only one way I ever want you on your knees before me."_

_He raised one eyebrow. "Well, Dr. Fowler, ask and you shall receive. To the shower!"_

_Surprising her with sudden action, he pulled her up and led her to the bathroom. She laughed the whole way._

* * *

"What are you doing? The water is hot," Sheldon asked from the behind the shower curtain.

"Just tying my hair up. It will only a take a second," Amy replied. Indeed, almost immediately he heard her scamper over to him, and the curtain moved aside as she stepped in.

He shifted so that she could take her place under the falling water. After grabbing a wash cloth and the soap, he started methodically cleaning her shoulders and back. Unable to resist her, he followed with a string of kisses.

"Mmm, that's lovely, but remember what happened the last time we tried to do it in the shower."

His tailbone ached at the memory. He grumbled, "I thought I broke my coccyx."

Because she was right, he sighed in frustration and returned to just washing her in silence. Because of the parts he was washing, the aching spread. He heard her sharp intake of air when he let his fingertip explore her, just for a second or two. Desire building, he chanced kissing her on the very junction of her lower abdomen and her dark curls.

Suddenly, the warm water was gone. He looked up. "Why did you turn the water off?"

"First, because if you do that here, I'm fairly certain I'll collapse and break my coccyx. Second, I have another idea." Amy opened the shower curtain, and goosebumps immediately raised on their flesh from the cooler air.

They stepped out, and Amy handed him his towel. Drying off, he asked, "What is your idea?"

"Spoilers, Dr. Cooper," she smirked. His heart skipped a beat. After a few more quick rub downs with the towel, she added, "Give me five minutes."

She practically ran out of the bathroom.

His interest was too piqued for him to even care that she had just dropped her towel on the floor. He finished drying himself and then placed both towels over the towel bar, working to make sure they were even and straight. His mind was running through the possibilities. She had quoted River Song, so perhaps this was some sort of _Doctor Who_ based sex game. His heart skipped another beat. To kill time, he opened the medicine cabinet to make sure everything was in order. _This is the longest five minutes of my life!_

Mercifully, he finally felt certain a full five minutes had passed. He peered out of the bathroom. The bedroom door was shut. "Amy?"

"I'm ready. Come in."

Sheldon walked down the short hallway and pushed open their bedroom door. Amy was lying on the bed, on her side, in a very come-hither pose, dressed as Nurse Chapel. His heart skipped five beats. _Even better than Doctor Who!_

She spoke before he could. "I'm in love with you, Mr. Spock. The human half and the Vulcan half. I love you just as you are."

Feeling like he was on Vulcan's equator, Sheldon said, "First, you have mixed quotes from _Doctor Who_ with quotes from _Star Trek_. Second, Nurse Chapel, you've gotten your lines wrong."

Amy smirked. "Well, Mr. Spock, from what I see, it looks like it doesn't matter to you in the least. Now get over here and ravish me."

Because she was right, Sheldon was next to her, holding her face, kissing her. His hand touched her breast, and he felt it respond beneath the blue uniform. "You're not wearing a bra."

"I thought that was point."

Because she was right, he rolled her over on her back and used both hands to caress her breasts. Then he snaked one of his hands down and toyed with the hem of her skirt that had been creeping upwards. "Nurse Chapel, this is not a regulation uniform. It is entirely too long. Additionally," his hand went under her skirt, and he followed the curve of posterior upwards, "you're not wearing any underpants."

"I am certain we already decided that was the point."

He squeezed her firm bottom. "So, we'll be leaving this on?"

She stopped kissing his jaw. "I thought you would like it."

"Oh, I do. But you can't fool me," he touched her innermost place with his finger tips, and she gasped, "you like it, too."

Sheldon didn't let her respond. Instead he got up and pulled her toward to the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I am certain we already decided that I would be on my knees." And then he was between her legs, and he lifted her vexing skirt and put his head under it. He heard her sexy laugh, and he quieted her by kissing her inner thigh. He had almost reached the apex when she bucked. Smiling to himself in the privacy of his blue tent, he said, "Patience, Nurse Chapel."

Then his started slowly kissing her other thigh, starting at her knee. He could hear Amy's deep breaths of anticipation, and the sound of them was almost too much to take. Even before he was half-way up her creamy skin, he took two fingers and slid them into her. She moaned. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes," she moaned.

He found the spot he was looking for and pressed there. Her back arched off the bed. "Or this?"

"Yes, yes," she squealed.

He brought his lips and tongue to her sensitive knot of nerve endings for a kiss. She arched again, higher. "Or this?" And he kissed her there, again.

"Sheldon, dear Lord - I mean, Spock," she almost screamed at the end.

He took his lips away from her, although he kept his fingers inside of her, pressing, drawing, circling. "Now, now, I'm fairly certainly that was the most illogical thing you've ever said."

"You liked it," she panted.

Because she was right, so very right, he smiled again and buried his face back where it had been, deep within her skirt.

* * *

**_AN: Oh, come on, you knew it was only a matter of time before that dress came out to play! Maybe I should have entitled this chapter The Cliche. _**


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